You Will Never Imprison My Mind
by Channel D
Summary: The team rushes to find one of their own, who has disappeared after an ambush. Can they do so before it's too late? Written for the NFA In Media Res challenge. Drama, suspense, case file. Six chapters; now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**You Will Never Imprison My Mind**

**by channeld**

_written for_: the NFA _In Media Res_ challenge. The challenge requires that the story begin in the middle of the action.  
_rating_: T for some violence  
_genre_: drama, action

* * *

_disclaimer_: I still own nothing of NCIS.

* * *

"_You can chain me, you can __torture__ me, you can even destroy this body, but you will never imprison my mind.__"_

_~ Mahatma Ghandi_

_Whack!_ Came a blow from out of nowhere. No, not entirely nowhere. The pain-driver had been there all along, or so it seemed. Coming out of the darkness to swing a mallet into his head. The effect was not enough to knock him out. That would be kind, considering, and his captors had shown no kindness. Instead, it was to keep the pain in focus between the periods of other onslaughts.

His world was conical. A single bulb with a shade threw a triangle of light down on him; broadest at the floor where his burned, shoeless, sockless feet rested. Every now and then he got a glimpse of those feet, when his mind expanded enough to realize that he had a body and not just parts that ached in turn. The blood on the rough cement floor beneath his feet had dried and darkened. He could no longer guess how long he had been looking at those bloodstains; those signs of his life forces forced out of him.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

How many times had he been asked that now? Three times? A hundred? All his life?

He swore at them, describing a physical impossibility, as he had before, but his voice was weakened. It had been so long since they'd allowed him anything to drink or eat.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

"F…"

Something was coming next. Was it the isolation in the cold, cold cell? Followed by dousing with cold water? One would think that that would be best done with a naked prisoner. Yet, they had left him fully clothed (sans the socks and shoes), right down to his suit and necktie. It was as if they were jeering his position as a professional. The cold, soaked, now sweat-stained and torn suit drying on his cold body was another.

The physical blows were the least of his worries. They were far more tolerable than the white torture; the relentless terror of isolation…alone, sensory deprived, no sense of balance or of self…He hadn't experienced waterboarding, but wondered if that was to come. It was, he had heard, the ultimate punishment short of death.

But they weren't done with him yet.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

This one was accompanied by a hard crack against his shoulders…the same spot where he'd been hit…sometime, recently. His screams filled the shapeless, size less room. It jarred his lungs, and he coughed as he screamed; sputum forced into his throat. "No…more…"

Any sort of reaction from his torturers would have been welcome, but they might have been robots for all the emotion they showed to anything he said. He tried to think, to grasp his situation, to reason how he got here, and how he could get out. It was becoming harder and harder to do so.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

That was one question he would not answer…as long as he could hold out.

Massive hands yanked him up from the chair on which he'd been sitting, with his wrists bound behind him. Then he was dragged out of the dark room into another one—one his faltering memory told him he'd been in before—and there shackled to the stone wall, his feet dangling about a foot off the floor.

For once, one of the unseen captors addressed him. "Soon, you will have forgotten everything. Even your wife."

_Jackie…_

* * *

"I don't give a damn about full flights, Shonna! Get on the next military transport and _get out here!"_

From the Director's desk at NCIS HQ, Washington, Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs slammed down the phone loud enough to make Vance's secretary in the next room, Leslie Baker, jump. "Is there anything I can get you, Agent Gibbs?" Baker asked cautiously, from the doorway.

"Can you pull your boss out of thin air and free me from this electric chair? No? I didn't think so," Gibbs growled. "Oh…go find something to do." He waved the man away.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs."

"DiNozzo. Status."

"_Checking out the leads from the greater Alexandria area, boss,"_ Tony said over the phone.

Gibbs was beginning to feel like he always had a phone in one hand; landline or cell. How did Vance manage it? "And?"

"_Um…nothing too solid yet. I've asked Schultz if her team could go look—"_

"DiNozzo; you don't _ask._ You _order._"

"_Um, got it. Order. So, is, um, Shonna Heywood on her way here?"_

"Yep," said Gibbs, wishing he could be certain of that, and he ended the call. If the Deputy Director from San Diego didn't get here fast to assume command, Gibbs was liable to do something rash. Like put the agency up for auction.

_Someone _needed to be in command while Vance was missing, and Gibbs knew he shouldn't be that someone. He was much more useful being boots-on-the-ground. But until Heywood, with a mild phobia of flying, could be gotten onto a plane that would deliver her to DC, he was stuck filling in for Vance…

…and commanding the massive search party, from a desk.

* * *

"No, Mrs. Vance. I am sorry. You did tell me to call you 'Jackie'. I am sorry. There is no news yet. We are doing everything…I am sorry. I know this must be hard on the children. No, you are not a pest. You are welcome to call me any time…Yes; as soon as we know anything. Goodbye."

"You have a lot more patience than I do," said Tony, who couldn't help hearing the conversation.

"Mrs. Vance has reason to be upset," said Ziva, lowering her eyes in sympathy. "I cannot blame her. Her husband has been missing for four days, and we have no solid leads. Her job is to worry. _We_ are the MCRT, Tony. _We_ should be out, searching."

"Not until we have something solid to go on," Tony said, firmly. For once, he didn't relish his position as pro-tem team leader. He wanted to be out doing something, too. But if the really important break came through in the case in, say, West Virginia, he didn't want the team hours away in eastern Maryland. In the meantime, other teams could be out chasing down the less likely leads.

And there were so few leads to begin with.

Four days ago, the Director had left NCIS for a meeting at the Pentagon. He had never arrived. Three hours after he was to show up, his car had been found in Virginia. Both bodyguards (one of whom had been the driver) were dead. There was no sign of the Director.

The Directorship of NCIS was an important enough position that the SECNAV called in the FBI and the CIA for help. The agencies added manpower to the search and to the intelligence gathering. A few had attached themselves to the NCIS building; two dour-looking types were rumored to be checking out all NCIS employees to see if this was an inside job. Of course, that action was proper and necessary, but it still gave the staff unease.

And Gibbs in the Director's $2,000 desk chair further unruffled them, for it was widely known that he didn't have the patience for the day-to-day administrative tasks, even though the secretary took care of as many as he could.

On a personal level, though he would never say it out loud, Tony was not comfortable giving orders to Supervisory Special Agent Klara Schultz. As leader of the senior MCRT—Schultz' team filled in when a second such team was needed, or on off-shifts—he could order her around, but barely. He liked Schultz, but she was closer to Gibbs' age, and she intimidated him.

Tim hung up his phone. "Ducky wants to see us in Autopsy," he announced. "He has findings on the bodyguards. Gibbs will meet us there."

"About time," Tony mumbled. _Four days!_ If Vance was still alive, so much time had already been lost.

* * *

The bodies of the two bodyguards, one male and one female, were laid out on tables. It was difficult (it always was) to look upon people in death whom one had known in life. One had been an NCIS agent who'd tired of field work and so joined the Director's staff when an opening arose. The other had been recruited from Homeland Security. Vance had often spoke highly of both of them.

"Well, Duck?" asked Gibbs.

"Patience, Jethro. Your desk isn't going anywhere," Ducky reprimanded lightly. "This is a very interesting case. The gunshot wounds that ultimately caused Mr. Lageroff's and Ms. Coltraine's deaths did not start their deaths. I'd been curious about that because there had been no indication that they put up a struggle. No cuts or bruising on their hands; no hair or skin cells under their fingernails."

Abby had joined them, and she pulled up on a computer a simulation. "This is what I think happened," she said. "Based on the entrance and exit wounds, the trajectory means they would have been sitting upright. Coltraine was driving. Lageroff was in the passenger seat. Well, that much you knew already."

"Except it couldn't have happened that way," Jimmy put in, eagerly. "The angles are wrong. They're crossed. Even though the shots were fired from about 40 feet away, you can tell."

Tim snapped his fingers. "They switched the bodies! Coltraine must have been the driver, and Lageroff was in the passenger seat."

"Why would they do that?" said Tony. "To throw us off? But how?"

"Lageroff usually drove," Gibbs put in. "Not always, but usually. He liked to drive more than Coltraine did."

"And it is curious," said Ducky, "that both died, apparently, sitting up. The car was not moving at the time…the blood splatters tell us that."

"But you said the shots came from about 40 feet away," said Ziva. "Not close enough for a traditional execution-style killing."

"That is correct, my dear."

"Then why did they stop? And how were they ambushed so fast?"

Abby put on a wry smile. "Ms. Coltraine didn't die in her seat. The blood type of the blood found on her seat (which is another reason why we're sure their seats were switched) wasn't hers. She was outside the vehicle when she was shot."

"We did not find traces of blood outside the car, Abby."

"And we searched that area a hundred times," Tony remembered. When the Director of NCIS' life was at stake, there would not be an atom that would go unscrutinized.

"Whoever did this had a couple of hours on you all," said Jimmy, grinning at the knowledge that the team hadn't yet twigged to. "Time enough to disturb the ground; scoop up any dirt or grass that had blood stains."

"Yes; I remember now thinking that the dirt might have been brushed," said Ziva. "The highway department has mowed the grass along the shoulders within the last week. The wheels broke up the dirt. But I thought someone else might have done so as well."

"There weren't any clues in the dirt," Tony argued mildly. No one should fault the MCRT for not being thorough.

"There wasn't anything to find," said Gibbs. "These people were pros."

"But why was Coltraine shot outside? And what was the point of switching places?"

"The time of death of the two is so close that I can't say for certain, but I believe that Mr. Lageroff died at least a few minutes before Ms. Coltraine did," said Ducky.

"Because he was shot first? Is that what you mean?"

Abby jumped back in. "Because he had something in his bloodstream that Coltraine didn't. Chockosgifide, a drug similar to the date rape family of drugs."

"Where did he get that from?" asked Tim.

"From his favorite brand of soda," said Abby, producing a can of Unweela Cola. "This was in the car. DNA traces matching his DNA were found in saliva on the can."

"Assuming it was in his possession the entire time, how does one get a drug into a sealed can of soda?" Tony demanded.

"It's easy if you know how," said Abby. "You start with a fake can with a false bottom…"

"An inside job?"

"So it would seem," Ducky said, moving around the corpse of the female bodyguard. "Mr. Lageroff was drugged to the point of being unable to defend himself. Ms. Coltraine, we've concluded, was shot afterwards. She had gotten out of the car, perhaps to congratulate the shooters? She was not running away, if you ask. She had turned away…" He gestured to Abby, who brought up the next graphic simulation on the computer. "…but only slightly. She was not afraid of whoever she met."

"And they double-crossed her."

"One less bad apple," Tony growled.

Gibbs privately thought that this sounded too simple. But, simple sometimes happened.

The important thing was, they were still at a loss to know where the Director was…even if he was alive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was cold, so very cold. Only mid-November and already the temperature had been stubbornly stuck below freezing for the last four days…beginning with the day that Vance had disappeared. Gibbs opened the blinds of the Director's office all the way and gazed out at the suffering landscape under the sullen clouds. Trees still had many of their browned leaves attached, in open defiance of the coming of winter.

As if they could hold out for long. A few snow flurries darted by the window, and then made an abrupt turn to go alarm people elsewhere. Perhaps regular snowflakes weren't far behind.

Gibbs missed being in the squad room; missed being in the center of the action. Here he had to wait for news to come to him, or blindly seek it out. There was the camera on the squad room; he could use that if he wanted to. But that seemed like spying. He didn't know which Director had had that put in. Did they know that the rank-and-file grumbled enough about Big Brother watching them, as it was? No, Gibbs would leave the plasma screen tuned to ZNN. At least on ZNN a cheerful commercial could take his mind away from the job for 60 seconds.

His gaze went to the framed photographs on the Director's desk. The Director and Jackie, on their wedding day. Lily and Jared's recent school pictures. The family together at the beach. On his desk was a sticky note atop the sticky note pad with simply the date _November 24__th_ written and heavily circled. That was the day before Thanksgiving. Gibbs remembered that his boss was taking the weekend off. Better than Vance himself must remember, evidently. The note, Gibbs guessed, was to remind Vance not to book himself for any work for that day on through the weekend, or face Jackie's wrath.

The phone rang; Vance's private line. Someone important enough to bypass Vance's secretary.

"_Gibbs; you got ZNN on?"_ It was the SECNAV.

"Yes, sir, but I haven't been—" He couldn't stop entirely the swear words that escaped his mouth when his eyes found the plasma screen. On it was a headline news bulletin: _Head of Federal Law Enforcement Agency Disappears; Feared Captive or Dead._ "Dammit; Homeland Security said they'd put a gag order on that news."

The SECNAV sighed. _"I supposed it couldn't last forever. Maybe it'll help. Maybe if someone's seen something, they'll say something."_

The TV showed a stock, studio photo of a smiling Vance, followed by a clip of him being sworn into his position by the SECNAV…two years ago, now. A few months over that. "Aren't you worried about it looking like we're…incompetent, sir?"

"_If it does, it does. We can't recall the news report. You don't care for doing press conferences, do you, Gibbs?"_

"Hell, no, sir."

"_Vance doesn't mind them. That's okay. I'll put someone from my office at your disposal. Probably Darleen Wash. Yes, she'll do. Just put her in front of the cameras anytime the media show up."_

PR be damned. The SECNAV might care; the Joint Chiefs of Staff might care, Even the President might care. It was one of the least of Gibbs' worries. "Sir, with this publicity, I'd like to ask for more protection for Mrs. Vance and the children. NCIS is getting stretched thin…"

"_Not a problem. I'll borrow agents from one of the other guys. Call me if you need anything else."_

* * *

When the SECNAV hung up, Gibbs battled with a decision for a minute before acting. Call Jackie or wait for her to call? No, if she hadn't been watching ZNN…and she probably wouldn't be, not with young children in the house, who might see who-knew-what…A news leak was something they had all feared. He dialed.

The phone rang a few times before Jackie answered. Gibbs knew that the agents in the house were prepared to record any incoming call, in case the kidnappers contacted her.

"_Hello…"_ She was obviously trying to be strong, be brave.

"Jackie; it's Gibbs."

"_Gibbs! You have news?"_

"No, but unfortunately ZNN just broke the story of Leon's disappearance. I wanted you to hear it from me, first."

"_Oh!..."_ There was a period of gasps and heavy breathing as she struggled to get herself under control. _"How…how can they do this? The SECNAV told me they wouldn't…"_

"It happens," said Gibbs. "And while it's distressing, it's not entirely a bad thing. We may get tips from the public."

"_I suppose…"_

"Jackie, unfortunately, this will also bring out the curious. The SECNAV is going to beef up security at your house. Agents from other agencies will be coming. Don't worry; they'll all be vetted through us; there won't be any surprises."

"_And this will also alert the kidnappers."_

Dang; she was smart. "But you're safe there now. You're our immediate concern while the search for Leon goes on. Have you decided about moving the children yet?"

"_Yes. They're going to stay here with me. I can't think of any place safer, and without their father around, they need me more than ever. We'll be doing school work at home; trying to keep their lives as normal as we can."_

"Okay. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"_Same thing that I've asked for before. Find Leon."_

* * *

Roger Able, CIA agent, continued to lean over Tim's shoulder. "Why haven't you traced Marge Coltraine's credit card records again?"

"Because she's dead, and dead people's use of credit cards goes _way_ down," Tim said, barely patient. Able had been hovering all day.

"Doesn't mean one of the kidnappers hasn't been using them."

"I know, but we have a block on the cards, and a sniffer that will tell us if someone tries to use them. Same with Lagerloff and Vance."

Able grunted. "I'm not sure that's good enough."

Tony was suddenly there; a commanding presence, even though Able matched his height. "How about letting my team get some work done, Able?"

"I'm only here to help!"

"Fine. Go through these files. See what Coltraine and Lageroff might have been involved with, besides guarding Vance." Tony dumped a stack of manila folders, two feet high in Able's arms. "When you're done with those, there are more."

Tony and Tim watched Able head for a vacant desk, muttering all the way. "Thanks, Tony," said Tim, lowly. "I was getting fed up."

"I saw. He's not being helpful."

"I think he was watching the chain of what I was doing, rather than the why. As if he was suspecting me."

Ziva quietly joined the conversation. "I want to discuss something…in Gibbs' office, perhaps?"

Tony flipped his hand, inviting her to lead the way. The three of them got in the elevator…supposedly to go to the Acting Director's office. Tony, though, hit the _stop_ button just after the elevator started up.

"Are we under suspicion?" Ziva asked, bluntly, her arms folded across her chest. "And please do not give me the line that _everyone is under suspicion._ I cannot work in an environment where I am not trusted."

Tim likewise looked dubious. "If you know something, Tony; tell us."

"I don't know much," said Tony. "Only that, as the MCRT, we're considered to have the most interaction with the Director. And therefore, the most reason to maybe want to get back at him."

"But _we_ know that we did not do it," said Ziva, not mollified. "Vance may have doubts about you and me, Tony, but he even _likes_ McGee."

"Everyone likes our Probie," Tony said with a faint smile, and then returned to business. "Don't you think that there would be someone more suspect than the three of us, though?"

"Gibbs," Ziva said swiftly. "His relationship with Vance has always been difficult."

"That's ridiculous," Tim snapped. "Gibbs would never go after the Director."

"We know that. But to an outsider, Gibbs must be a pretty high suspect, if they're thinking _inside job._"

"But Gibbs is allowed to serve as Acting Director…would they not remove him if he were under suspicion?"

"He was appointed by the SECNAV to serve until Shonna Heywood gets out here to take over."

"I've got $20 that says that's not going to happen," said Tim. "Her fear of flying is legendary. She'll continue to stonewall Gibbs on that."

"I'm not taking that bet," Tony sighed. "Anyway, the SECNAV supports Gibbs. He'll ward off any attempts to remove him. At most, he'll keep Gibbs at a distance from the investigation."

"And we?"

"We investigate, until at such time that we're removed from the case. We're the MCRT. We can solve this."

Four days, with few clues, and no ransom demand. It wasn't looking encouraging.

* * *

Vance remembered that Jackie had once talked about a summer job she'd had, working in a factory between college years. Being a machine operator had bored her to tears. To make the day go by, she'd sung soundtracks to musicals in her head. _Hello, Dolly! Man of La Mancha. West Side Story. Showboat. South Pacific._ She knew dozens of them.

He was much less musical, but he tried that now. _Hair._ That one had inspired him, in his youth. _Jesus Christ Superstar._ That was another. But the words weren't as neatly stuck in his mind as he'd hoped they would be. He blanked on phrases; sometimes nearly on whole verses.

The shackles that bound him to the wall cut into his skin. But it was the utter darkness around him, in this room devoid of any light, that really gnawed at him; pulling down his confidence. _You can't remember._ No, he wouldn't give into that negativity. _You can't remember, you fool._

_Your mind is going. Give up._

"No!" He tried to shake his head to chase out the demon in his mind. Maybe it was the musicals he chose. Jackie's collection was from a more cheerful time, when most musicals ended on a positive note. He'd try those, even though he was less familiar with them than she was.

That was hard. He was too tense. He willed himself to sing anything;, anything at all.

_Oh, you better not shout  
__You better not cry  
__You better not pout  
__I'm telling you why  
__Santa Claus is coming to town_

Well, that was unexpected.

For the first time, he began to accept, ever so little, that last year may have been the last Christmas Lily and Jared would ever have with their Daddy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Jackie Vance sat on the couch, her hands folded. For the children's sake, she tried not to look distressed, but as the days had gone on, it became nearly impossible. This was now day five. The agents were great—she couldn't ask for better, almost. (Well, if she were honest, she'd want Gibbs' team—but she accepted that they were more useful investigating.) And they did their best to stay out of her way. In the living room with her now was only agent Marie-Ann Toles, who sat almost out of eyesight, reading a romance novel.

"Mommy, Mommy." Her daughter tugged at her arm. "Can I go take a nap now, Mommy?"

Staring at her, Jackie felt the little girl's forehead. "You _want_ to take a nap, Lily?" _After I tried for seven years to get you to do so?_ "Are you feeling sick?"

"No, Mommy. I just want to say my prayers, and pray for Daddy."

Jackie blinked away tears. "All right, honey. I'll be along shortly to tuck you in."

"Can Marie-Ann do it, Mommy? I like how she does it."

"If she doesn't mind…" Jackie watched as the smiling agent allowed Lily to take her hand and lead her out. _And when do I get a moment to say my prayers?_ she wondered. But she knew the answer. She hadn't stopped praying since the report of Leon's discovered car had come in from Gibbs.

"Mom? Mom, can I go out back and shoot hoops? I'm getting rusty."

Five days inside and Jared's athletic future hung by a sliver, she was sure. "No, Jared. Go read a book."

"Mom, pleeeeeaase? I won't leave the backyard. There are agents out there. I'll be okay." He looked fierce for his small size.

_There are agents out there…_ As much as Jackie wanted to hug her children to herself and not let go of them, she knew that wasn't practical. "Let me see…" She stepped into the kitchen and had a word with Agent Don Kaplan. He readily agreed, and called the two agents working the backyard perimeter to let them know that he was sending Jared out.

Walking back into the living room, Jackie said, "Put your coat on. You're not just wearing your hoodie outside. And be sure to do whatever Don and the other agents say."

Jared whooped and dashed out, barely waiting for Kaplan to escort him out back and satisfy himself that there were no intruders.

Again Jackie felt uneasy, now. She was alone in the living room. Marie-Ann was still off with Lily, upstairs. There were no other agents in the house.

_What'll I do if the phone rings? There's no one here to record the conversation._

_They could call at anytime!_

Fighting the urge to run to the back door and tell Don to get back in here, Jackie tried sitting as still as possible. Her breathing was almost at the level of gasps. _Calm down. They won't call now. They won't call now. They've yet to call, period. They won't—_

The phone rang.

Still Don was not back! He must be playing a quick game with Jared.

The ringing continued. With a scared look over her shoulder, Jackie slowly got up and went to the phone, trying to remember how the agents got the recording system to work. _Leon, I'm sorry if I screw this up…_ "He..Hello?"

"_Stupid of you to let your son leave the house,"_ said a voice, disguised by technology somehow. _"You're just asking to have someone grab him."_

"Don't you touch my children," Jackie said ferociously. "If you even come near them, nothing on earth will save you. _Nothing._"

"_Don't you think I'm already close?"_ the voice on the other end laughed. _"I've taken your husband. I can take anyone I want to."_

"Leon! Let him go! Let him—" But she was already speaking to a dial tone.

"Geez! Sorry I wasn't in here for that, Mrs. V!" said Don, coming up behind her, and looking embarrassed. "Did you get it recorded?"

Jackie still had a death grip on the phone receiver. "I—I think so."

"Great! I'll email it to HQ."

"He said—he said he could see Jared in the backyard."

Don turned away and spoke into his headphone.

Marie-Ann came up on her other side. "Can I get you a cup of tea, Mrs. Vance?"

Jackie nodded, and managed to sit down before the tears came. _They're watching the house!_

* * *

"On our way!" Tony hung up his phone, already rising from his chair. "A call was made to the Vance house," he announced to his team. "Gibbs will meet us in Abby's lab."

After the third playback of the tape, they were all silent for a moment. "Background, Abbs?" Gibbs asked after a moment.

"No apparent sounds, Gibbs, but I'm working on it." Abby punched at the computer keys to get the sound analyzer program running.

"They didn't find anything about the caller?" Tony asked, expecting he knew the answer already.

"Not yet. There were six agents on site. We could only spare two to immediately search the area. Four more from the FBI are on their way, but whoever it is will be long gone by the time they get there."

"Have all of the neighbors been thoroughly vetted?" asked Ziva.

Gibbs thought. "When the Director bought the house, they were. I don't know if anything's been done since."

"I'll check real estate transactions for the neighborhood," said Tim, jumping to a spare computer. Within a minute, he had an answer. "No sales, but two months ago the house next door to the one behind them was foreclosed on. Hasn't been sold yet."

"How did we miss that?" Gibbs growled. "Could be squatters there. Can we check to see what the sightline to the Vances' back yard is?"

"Sure. I'll check Google Maps…Here it is. This is a street view from the front of that house. There are two stories to it. If there's a window in the back, or on the side of the house on the second floor, then they could likely see the Vances' yard."

"Grab your gear!" Tony said to his team. They needed no more encouragement.

* * *

It was late afternoon and the sun was setting when an unmarked van with Tony, Ziva and Tim pulled up, just down the street from the suspected house. No lights were on. Tim checked the house with a thermal imaging camera, and detected no warm spots that might be humans.

"Be careful, anyway," Tony directed. They all drew their guns as they approached the house. _Is this what Gibbs goes through, this worry about the team, every time he sends us into an unknown situation like this?_ Tony wondered. _And all without antacids!_

Ziva had the front door unlocked quickly. The electricity to the house was still on. A quick search of the first floor turned up nothing. Ziva, though, was the first to find a small bedroom on the second floor that provided an excellent view of the Vances' yard and the rear of the house.

"Candy wrapper," said Tony, picking it off the floor with gloved hands. "Careless of the bank. Prospective buyers might not like the trash."

"It is a Belgian chocolate," Ziva said, peering at the label. "Our suspect has good taste."

"I wish we had a time machine," Tim mused. "I wonder how long ago the guy left." He dusted for fingerprints as he talked. "I wish the portable fingerprint scanner wasn't broken. I was getting used to it…"

"I wonder if he will be back," said Ziva. "If we are careful, he will not suspect that we have been here. McGee, you could set up a camera in this room."

"I was thinking of posting a couple of agents here, but I like that idea better," said Tony. "Make the camera happen, McGee."

Tim nodded and turned to go to the van, but then stopped. He called over his shoulder, "You know, you're pretty reasonable when you have responsibility, Tony."

As Tim expected, Tony choked and sputtered, unable to come up with a reply. Leadership was mostly-uncharted territory for him.

* * *

"A candy wrapper?" Abby glared at them, shortly thereafter. "You bring me a _candy wrapper_ and expect me to work miracles from that?"

"Well, uh…do the prints on it match the prints McGee found at the scene?"

"Honestly; sometimes I think I should just go along with you guys and process the crime scene on site," Abby grumbled.

"But you are afraid of violence, Abby," Ziva put in, not unkindly.

"As is any sensible person! Okay; there are at least four different people's prints in what McGee picked up. That makes sense, for the family of four that you say used to live there. Now if this crook was clever, he would wear gloves while watching the Vance house."

"Fortunately for us, crooks often think they won't get caught," said Tim.

"Right-o, Timmy! And—even if our mystery caller wore gloves when he called today, he probably wasn't wearing them at the time he bought the candy bar!"

But the fingerprint search could not come up with a reliable match. "Someone this ruthless, with no prints on file..they're either a babe in the woods as far as criminal; records or other needs to be fingerprinted, or…"

"Stop the scan, Abby," Ziva directed. "Let us have a close-up of the prints…See? That looks abnormal, yes?"

"The swirls are damaged," Abby agreed. "I always thought it was impossible to destroy one's fingerprints, but…"

"Not entirely. There is an increasing attempt by some people to mutilate their fingers. A doctor can transplant small sections of skin from another part of the body and graft it onto the fingertips, Or make deep cuts and resew the skin."

"The finger swirls won't just go back?"

"Not if the job is thorough."

"So we can't tell who this guy is."

"Get me some DNA," said Abby. "He can't change his DNA."

"He didn't leave any behind."

"Then…you've got to find something else. Or hope that he returns and McGee's hidden camera catches him."

* * *

Other agents were assigned to knock on neighbors' doors to see if they'd seen anything. Tony put Abby on measuring the sightlines from the data they'd given her on the house (including pictures Tim had taken from the bedroom window) to determine if one could see the Vances' driveway from there, to determine when the Vance's car might have left. It seemed unlikely. Tony knew he was moving up in the managerial ranks when he started to add up the number of agents involved in the search for Vance, and the man-hour cost to the agency. He shuddered.

"We're missing something," Tim said, staring at his computer screen back in the squad room. "I don't know what, but we're missing _something,_ and it's driving me nuts!"

"Let's think this through," said Tony. "Someone overtakes Vance's car, kills his bodyguards, and takes off with Vance. No ransom demand is made. We start to wonder if there will be one. Then, five days after the abduction, comes a call to the Vance home from someone who can see the house. Why would they do that unless they wanted to keep the family in terror?"

"Let me call Ducky and ask him to come up here." Ziva pulled out here phone. "If we are trying psychology, we should make use of his training."

* * *

"Well, it's hard to say; there are so many possibilities." Ducky stroked his chin. "Nonetheless, I believe that a criminal who has committed a simple murder…God forbid, of our Director…would simply move on. He would not hang around and bother the family. I think that with that phone call, he is implying that is the cat and we are the mouse. He is causing us pain while knowing that he can still cause the captive Director pain."

"A classic sadist, would you say?"

"Someone disturbed, I would wager. In his mind he may be out for revenge, or retribution, but he is increasingly driven by the pleasure that inflicting pain gives him."

"God help the Director," Tim murmured.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

"Where are the forces meeting?"

This time, the question had been preceded by a harder blow to Vance's head. It was still not enough to knock him out; that would have been merciful, and Vance realized his captor had not a drop of mercy in him. As pain buzzed through his head and down to his feet, he felt the slow trickle of blood starting down the side of his head.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

Vance wished now that he'd paid more attention in the psychological warfare classes he'd had to take back in his agent training days, which seemed so long ago. At that time, he'd considered them nonsense, and only paid enough attention to barely pass the courses. The so-called _experts_ were wrong. A strong mind, he'd been sure, could resist torture. Only the weak fell apart under harsh conditions. He was not weak.

But now…

His captor was getting to him by breaking his body. Unwillingly, his mind was also starting to weaken, no matter how much he fought against that. _You trained as a boxer, Leon. You can work through this._

That was long ago. Here, there was no referee to step in when the fighting turned foul or dangerous.

"Where are the forces meeting?"

Vance didn't know who his captor was, but what he was after was evident. There was a secret rendezvous scheduled in the Pacific, the details of which could mean a significant blow to the pirates of western Africa. This could be a turning point in the war on terrorism.

"I'm…I'm not saying," Vance rasped, weakening in his resolve to not do much talking. "You might as well stop asking."

"I can make you talk," the voice said, with a cruel tinge.

"I doubt that. You haven't succeeded yet."

"I can hurt you much more than just in your mind and your body, Director Vance. Last night I watched your boy playing basketball in your back yard. I have my eye on your family. They are so soft. I could so easily take them; easier than it was to take you…"

Vance was struggling against the bonds that held him before the captor even finished his second sentence. He swore. "You leave my family alone! They have nothing to do with this! Nothing!"

He could feel the man, unseen, behind him. There was a change in the air around his neck; a gentle stirring that indicated he was leaning in closely. "Oh, but maybe I want to play with them. Have you ever really understood how intrinsically beautiful pain is, Director? The way that the eyes take on a different light…the contortion of a face…I regret that I am not an artist; I would like to be able to capture it on canvas. Alas, I'm color blind. Pencil sketches are the best I can do." His breath could be felt on Vance's neck. "Perhaps I could show them to you sometime. But they are not here. And, sad to say, you will likely be dead before I have a chance to get them." A pat on the neck, and then with a laugh, the man stepped back.

"Tell me, Director, where are the forces meeting?"

Vance didn't reply this time. He didn't doubt that the man had seen his house; had seen Jared playing. His statements had the ring of truth. If Vance had been afraid before, now he was terrified for his family. There must be agents in his house in his absence; Gibbs and the SECNAV would see to that. But if this man could get close enough to see his house…then he was clever and dangerous beyond belief.

_I can't tell him what he wants to know. I can't. That could mean hundreds of lives; maybe more. It would go against everything I've ever stood for._

_But Jackie…Jared…Lily…_

_Please, God. Please don't make me choose. No one should have to do that. Let me die first._

There was silence in the lightless room. The captor must have gone out; leaving Vance to flounder in his thoughts and his tears. His shoulders shook as he sobbed.

* * *

Gibbs stood over his cowed team in the squad room. "I need progress, people! Who is this guy? Is he working alone? Where is he hiding? Come on!"

Tim was the first to choke out a word. "Uh, we weren't able to trace the cell phone number, boss. Mrs. Vance got the recording, but missed a step in identifying the signal."

"The team in the house has modified the set-up so that won't happen again," Tony put in.

"Anything in the house behind them?"

"There is no sign that anyone has entered there since we left," said Ziva.

"How about that list of enemies of Vance?"

"Everyone seems to be accounted for," said Tim. "Either in prison, across the country, or dead. That's the list of 27 whom the Director personally put away in the last ten years."

"What about their families, or other contacts who might hold a grudge?"

"Uh, I'll get on that," said Tim, sitting back down at his computer.

"Boss, my feeling is that it doesn't go that far afield," said Tony. "If this guy's a sadist, it may not be anything personal towards the Director at all."

"Meaning?"

"I'm thinking…what if he took the Director for leverage? He wants something from NCIS. He's just a sadist on the side."

"And I thought my hobby was odd," said Gibbs. "Good theory, though. David—see what you can find out about criminals in our database who might have recently gotten out of prison, with known abnormal psychological profiles."

"On it."

Gibbs' cell phone rang, and he turned back for the Director's office with a sigh. "Keep me informed." Then he turned his head, and motioned Tony to follow him.

* * *

Tony was kept waiting in the Director's outer office while Gibbs took the phone call inside. Vance's secretary, Leslie Baker, carefully ignored Tony, as he usually did. Usually this sort of thing riled Tony, but he had a sudden thought. Maybe Baker was trying to appear impartial; to not get anyone's hopes up that he (standing in for the Director) favored anyone.

Or it could just be as he had thought all along: Baker didn't like anyone.

Gibbs then opened the door and nodded to Tony to come in.

"It doesn't do to use my regular 'office' in this time," Gibbs said wryly. "At least this one has chairs and a window."

"And the Director's own liquor," Tony grinned, and then at a glare from Gibbs, swallowed the smile.

"He doesn't know bourbon from a hole in the ground," Gibbs grunted. "I just wanted to tell you, Tony, that you're doing a hell of a job. You make a good team leader."

"Thanks, boss. I'd feel better about it if I thought we were getting closer to finding the Director, though."

"Wouldn't we all? There are five agencies involved in this. Even the President is being briefed daily on it. Don't feel bad about not getting the answers right away. Or if one of the three-letter guys finds him first."

"I won't. I just want to see the big guy come out all right, no matter who gets the collar."

"Good attitude."

Tony ventured another loose thought. "How's the big, expensive chair, boss?"

Gibbs frowned, looking down. "Too nice for my tastes. Why CEOs have to be pampered like this is something I don't understand. Well, back to work, Tony. Find Vance."

"Boss? What you said about it not mattering which agency finds him…?"

"What do you think?" Gibbs stared at him.

"I…think I'll go back to work."

* * *

"The key is Coltraine. I am certain of it," Ziva said a little while later. "From the position of her body, and the trajectory of the shots, we know that she must have been familiar with the shooter. She must have planned this with him, and then he double-crossed her."

"That's the only way it makes sense," Tim put in. "Lageroff is killed first. Vance, perhaps, can't get off a good shot and so doesn't try. Maybe Coltraine had him in her sights. He gets out of the car, his hands up. The killer then shoots her, to her surprise, and maybe knocks out Vance—"

"Teams have been over that ground countless times. There is no blood there that matches Vance's blood type," said Ziva.

"I know. I don't think Vance was wounded there; only knocked out. At least, I hope it was just that. But my point is, with that scenario, it could be done by only one person (not counting Coltraine)."

Tony paced a little. "I got Fornell to ask the FBI's super-profilers. They say that in most cases, sadists work alone. Not always, but most of the time."

"They do not like to share the pleasure?"

"Maybe, Ziva. That he even worked with Coltraine is somewhat amazing. What do we know about her?"

Ziva sighed. "Tony, we have been over this ground many times in the last few days. She…" she threw up her hands at his look. "I will look again."

* * *

A few hours later, she jumped up. "Come here," she said to her teammates. "No, wait; I will put it on the plasma."

A picture of Lynne Coltraine in the form of her NCIS ID showed up on the screen. Her photo showed a steady gaze in her deep-set eyes; a look that said that nothing surprised her anymore. She was 40 years old; an employee of NCIS for 16 years. "So?" said Tony.

"This is what we did not have before," said Ziva. "Of course Coltraine had a background check before she was hired. She had been one of Vance's bodyguards for less than a year. She came to us from the Seattle office."

"Midlife crisis?" Tim wondered. "That's a long way to relocate."

"She never married; had no children," Ziva said. "Parents long dead, no siblings. Nothing to keep her tied down. She was originally from New Mexico, by the way; not Seattle."

"Why the move?"

"One of her boyfriends went out there. He asked; she went with him. Kyle Evan Stolpe. She worked for a private investigator for awhile, and then took the NCIS exam and passed. About a year after she was hired, they apparently broke up."

"Yeah? So?"

"He moved away. Got work in New Orleans." She pulled up a picture of him.

"Cold-looking character."

"Death-eater eyes," Tim remarked.

"Yes, I thought of _Harry Potter_, too. And the comparison is valid. In New Orleans in 1996 he allegedly killed three people by slow torture after kidnapping them. One was a Navy captain. It was thought that Stolpe might have been after military secrets that he could sell."

"Navy? Is he in our files?"

Tim jumped for his computer, but Ziva said, "Do not bother. He is, and I have already pulled the file. He also made contact with the captain's family. He said he could see their daughters when they got on and off the school bus, and described what they were wearing."

Tony felt a thump in his chest. "Okay…so surely this bozo's in the slammer, right? On death row, maybe?"

"No, that is the interesting thing. He was quietly released from prison four weeks ago. He had a good lawyer who convinced a judge that the case had been improperly handled and the evidence was circumstantial. He is free awaiting a new trial."

"Where is he now?" Tim said, swallowing, while Tony phoned Gibbs.

"And when did Coltraine get back in touch with him?" Ziva wondered.

"Let's get out a BOLO," said Tony, snapping his phone shut. "Gibbs will alert the other agencies that we may, at last, have a break in the case."

"I will go talk to Coltraine's neighbors again," said Ziva, printing out a picture of Stolpe.

"Go with her, McGee," said Tony. "I'll call Jackie; see if Vance has ever mentioned Stolpe to her. And I suppose I'd better play nice with our live-in agent guests. They'll want to know."

"You going to tell them right away?"

Tony grinned and linked his fingers. "In due time."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Search warrant in hand, Tony, Ziva and Tim approached the apartment in a run-down neighborhood that Kyle Stolpe called home, according to the court records. Ziva's visit to Coltraine's neighbors had only revealed that some of them had seen Stolpe in Coltraine's presence recently.

The apartment was as peeling and faded inside as the building was outside. Stolpe wasn't there. They bagged evidence and looked for clues as to where else he might be. In the closet, Tony found a box with two drawing pads.

The pencil drawings on the first one were appalling. Well-executed, they showed bodies—for there seemed to be no life left in them—which had been brutalized. Some appeared to have been bludgeoned, some were dismembered. Men and women seemed equal victims. Often sketches were done of the same person at different angles.

Tony swore. "I hope, hope to God, that this is from this sicko's imagination, and not from real life."

"Me, too," Tim sighed. "Although I wonder the courts are aware of these—what a field day a psychologist would have with this…"

Ziva was looking through the other drawing pad. "I do not think this is his imagination," she said, grimly. "Look."

The page she held open was of a man chained to a wall; barefoot, bruised and bleeding. "That's the Director," Tony choked.

* * *

The agencies investing Vance's disappearance at last had something solid to work with. A BOLO was put out for Stolpe, and his neighborhood was staked out in case he returned. The FBI took on the honors of cataloging the rest of the evidence and prints from the apartment while Gibbs' team headed back to NCIS with the sketch pads.

The sketches were photographed and the images run through the facial recognition software. In some cases it was doubted that much could be discovered that way because the faces in the drawings were battered, but with luck, they might get hits on the others.

Tm took on that part of the search, in Abby's lab while Abby tested the sketchpads for forensic clues. "Got one," Tim announced as the program pinged. "Jean Huppert; missing from New Orleans in…1996. Body never found." Less than a minute later, the laptop next to that one also chimed. "Oh ho!" Tim chortled as the image solidified on the screen. "Alvin Desrosiers, missing from Alabama in 1997. Body also never found." He set the first computer to work on another search. It found nothing on three pictures, but these were ones deemed unlikely. It then hit paydirt on the fourth.

"James Yee. That's the Navy Captain Stolpe was supposed to have killed in '97, wasn't it?" Abby breathed, looking over Tim's shoulder. "I'd moved out of New Orleans before then, but I remember hearing about the case and the trial."

"Too bad this isn't useable evidence for his new trial," Tim said. "It's just circumstantial. But Vance…he has to be around _somewhere_."

"He was alive at the time that sketch was made," Abby nodded. "At least, I hope so…" She hugged Tim for reassurance.

* * *

Gibbs hated the passage of time. It was both too slow and too fast. Every minute meant that their chances of recovering Vance alive diminished.

He summoned Ducky and Tony to his office. "It's been a day since Stolpe called the Vance house," Gibbs remarked. "Is he going to do it again? What does he hope to accomplish?"

Ducky cleared his throat. "If he feels uncatchable…which he very well may be feeling…then he is confident to let things play out in his own time. He knows he has Jackie Vance worried. He can continue to let her worry a little bit longer, but likely not too much, or his own gratification from this act will ebb."

"It's a sexual thing, Ducky?"

"It might be, Tony; it's hard to say. _Sadism _is no longer considered a diagnosis, in and of itself, for various reasons. It now comes under the umbrella of _personality disorder not otherwise specified."_

"A footnote, then?"

"Not entirely, although it's not studied as much now as it once was. It's tied in with sadomasochism, often, and that's not necessarily considered abnormal behavior."

"Hurting people isn't abnormal?"

"I didn't mean that, Jethro. In a consensual relationship, the rules are different. What we have here, though, is a statistically rare individual who hurts people only for his own needs. That is, of course, criminal."

"Particularly if he kills them," Tony scoffed.

"Well, yes."

"Break his hold over the Vance family," Gibbs ordered. "I don't want this maniac to have the slightest opportunity to get at them."

Tony hesitated. "Do you have a priority, boss? Ja—Mrs. Vance and the children, over the Director?"

Gibbs' look was steely. "I want both sides to get out of this safely," he said.

But they knew where his feelings were.

* * *

Jackie Vance was hesitant about even taking a shower, for fear of missing a phone call or a development. The agent Marie-Ann Toles reassured her, patiently, that she needed to take care of herself, and there would now always be an agent in the house to intercept a phone call. Jackie wasn't entirely convinced, but she agreed.

Her thoughts turned to Leon, as they always did now. She kept remembering the night he proposed to her. "You'll be marrying a special agent," he'd said soberly. "I can't guarantee that there won't be some peril. But that's who I am, Jackie. I can't give it up. I believe in what I'm doing."

"I don't want you to give it up," she'd said at the time. "I just want you to try to stay safe."

"I'll try."

She knew he took calculated risks. He'd done so in her earlier days, as a boxer. He'd done so as a Marine. But he'd never been seriously injured. And never had he…disappeared.

Was he still alive? She wasn't going to pretend that she was certain that he was. Make-believe was for children and fools. The wife of the head of a law enforcement agency had to be practical. For the children's sake, she wore a different face; one that said that daddy would be rescued from the bad men soon. Privately, though, her doubts were the size of elephants.

She knew that the house behind there had been staked out. She knew also that houses across the street from hers had been thoroughly screened. All were occupied by stable, long-time neighbors. Nothing was likely to come from that direction.

The only thing that she feared now was what the agents _weren't_ telling her. From some whispered conversations, she gathered that that was a lot.

* * *

"This guy doesn't just kidnap Vance so he can have his jollies," Gibbs growled. "I can't believe that this was a random attack." He glowered at the test pattern on the giant screen in MTAC. "C'mon, McGee; get me a connection!"

"Working on it, boss," Tim said, nodding to the MTAC technicians working the controls.

Tony and Ziva sat in the tiered chairs. No, it would be a one-in-a-million chance that Vance's abduction was a random event. Not with the bodyguard Coltraine being killed in the position she was, rather than dying in a stance indicating that she was trying to protect the Director. Had she broken up with him years earlier once she'd found out about his sadistic side? They'd likely never know.

So that left something NCIS-related. What had Vance been working on, or what secrets did he have, that would force someone to try to wring them out of him?

Gibbs didn't know.

Leslie Baker, Vance's secretary, didn't know.

The FBI, CIA, NSA and various others claimed not to know.

There were always top secret items, but most of these could be found in reports. The Director's files, for the most part, were accessible to a small number of people, as required, in the event of the Director's incapacity or death. No one on the MCRT would be surprised to learn that even Vance might have a few secrets, but they would have to be very few, unless he was crooked (which they did not believe. Harsh, maybe, but honest, mostly.).

What could have been in his mind that wasn't in his current reports? Was he the type who would log everything only after the case was finished, and keep things just in his mind, not typed up, until then? It was beginning to seem so.

There were sailors and Marines involved in drugs: an on-going (perhaps never-ending) problem. There were thefts and robberies and abused spouses. Fights, petty crimes, not-so-petty crimes. Then there was the big stuff: military secrets, troop movements, international skirmishes, arms shipments, weapons of mass destruction. So much went on in the world, every day, and one person could not keep tabs on all of it. He or she would have to delegate responsibility, and have subordinates handle it, sending him reports…

"I wonder…" Gibbs said. "We've looked at reports Vance has written. We haven't looked at what he's _received_ lately. Ziva; go check Vance's files for incoming reports in the last 30 days. I'll give you the password."

She gulped. Reading Vance's files still seemed to her a little beyond what she should be doing. "Yes, Gibbs."

"Hold on," said Tim, and Ziva sat back down. "Got the connection to Admiral Weych."

Gibbs stood up. "Admiral. Don't know if you remember me. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, acting Director of NCIS."

On the big screen, the admiral smiled. "I do remember you, Gibbs. You saved our necks in that affair in the Mediterranean a few years back. What can I do you for?"

"I need you to remember back to '97, when you were commander of the _S. S. Quartermoon._ Captain James Yee served under you."

"A good man," the admiral said, looking sad. "A horrible thing to happen; that brutal death…"

"Admiral, we have reason to believe that Captain Yee was working on a top-secret plan at the time of his death."

"Well now…such things are classified. I can't—"

"It was thirteen years ago, Admiral, and yes, you can. I can have the SECNAV contact you if need be."

"Well…all right. James was a computer whiz, and was the only one of the higher officers who understood the programming for the system that was the backbone of our new guided-missile destroyers. The plans are a little obsolete now, but they were cutting edge back then."

"Something our enemies would have loved to have had."

"Undoubtably. But no loss was discovered after James' murder, so they didn't get them from him. He wasn't the type to carry them in his head. He always said his head was the place for truly important things, like recipes and baseball statistics. He kept all of his work on computers. Is this about that…scum, Stolpe?"

"We believe he's involved in the disappearance of Director Vance, yes, So we're investigating all angles."

"Vance…yes. Never met the man in person, but I heard that he went missing. Isn't that odd, now…"

"What's that?"

"Vance and I were talking just two weeks ago, I think, on the new top secret guidance system. Our forces are meeting with the allies at the end of the month to discuss this."

* * *

"Find every foxhole, every rat hole that Stolpe could be in," Gibbs directed from the balcony as dozens of agents inside NCIS grabbed their sidearms and their badges. "Go down in the storm drains if you have to. Every point within a 30 mile radius of the Navy Yard. Get him. _Go!"_

With what Admiral Weych had said, there was no doubt in anyone's mind now that Coltraine had been the conduit. Being Vance's bodyguard, she'd come across some of his most secret work information. She'd shared it with Stolpe, who'd probably agreed to cut her in on the proceeds…and then, for some reason, killed her instead.

Now the stakes were the Director, his family, and national security.

* * *

In his cell, Leon Vance started thinking of ways he could arrange his own death. With him gone, Jackie and the kids wouldn't be bothered, and the missile systems information would remain a secret.

He'd always thought that he and Jackie would grow old together. They'd retire to some place where the winters weren't harsh. They'd talked about that. Some place where they could sit on a porch swing, or rocking chairs, on a nice day, holding hands. There would be grandchildren running in the yard; maybe playing with a dog or two.

And now that dream was gone. He wondered if Jackie would remarry.

* * *

Lily Vance looked out the front window, peering through a break in the curtains that her mommy always kept closed now. Mommy and Marie-Ann had just gone into the kitchen to prepare lunch. Don was taking a nap. Jared was on his computer, playing games. She was alone in the living room.

Aw! There was a kitten in the yard! Lily had always wanted a cat; the family poodle was…well, a dog. It was no good as a cat. Lily mostly wanted a cat because she didn't have one.

She figured that maybe the kitten in the yard was looking for a home, and a little girl to look after it and play with it. Lily knew she could be that girl!

Quietly, oh-so-quietly, she unlocked the front door and stepped out into the front yard, closing the door behind her soundlessly.

Across the street, someone in the house facing theirs noticed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

"Subject Waterlily sighted in the front yard, alone. Except for a cat."

"Wha—? How did she get out of the house?"

"Dunno, but we can't let her run around out there. There's no telling—"

"Sit down, Ray. We can't blow our cover. We're one of the back-ups that Mrs. Vance doesn't know about, and the Chief wants it to stay that way!"

"Screw that! That's an innocent little kid out there, and I'm not going to stand by to watch her get snatched!"

"Ray! Come back here!"

The man Ray ignored the call, and was out of the house and across the street at a run. Sweeping up the small child, he was on the front porch in steps, and ringing the doorbell.

The door opened after a moment, revealing Jackie Vance with agent Marie-Ann Toles next to her. "Lily! What on earth are you doing outside? Get in here this minute!"

Over Lily's protests at her pick-up and the cat's having run off, and Marie-Ann's introduction of fellow agent Ray Quirt, Jackie gradually made sense of what had happened. "Thank you for my daughter," she said, wiping away tears as she knelt beside the child, clutching her. "She's her father's daughter. Always following her curiosity. Thank you."

"Mommy, can I have a kitten? Pleeeeeease?"

"No. Go to your room, Lily, and think about how you disobeyed us by going outside."

"But, Mommmy…."

"Go. _Now."_

"Are you going to be in trouble, Ray?" Marie-Ann asked softly as Lily went upstairs.

He forced a smile. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time. But yeah; our cover in the house across the street is kind of blown. The boss won't be happy."

"You did it to save my daughter. I'll see that you don't get in trouble," Jackie said, firmly. "When Leon…" She faltered, and then continued. "I'll see to it."

* * *

It was one of the most extensive DC-area manhunts in the history of federal law enforcement. Gibbs overruled Tony, and kept Tim at NCIS. "Don't want to go scrambling to find a computer expert if we suddenly get a lead," he said.

"But, boss; you have Abby…"

"I know. But I may need both of you. You're a good agent, Tim, but we have close to sixty good agents out in the field right now. You're needed here."

Not mollified, Tim grudgingly kept his mouth shut. He might admit to wanting to be one of the glory-winners when Vance was found. They were the ones that people remembered; not the ones who rode a computer. He sat and waited for instructions.

* * *

Before too long, Gibbs had left the Director's office and rejoined Tim in the squad room, having instructed Vance's secretary to direct calls to his cell phone.

"He gets somehow from where he's hiding out to the Vances' neighborhood. How?" Gibbs challenged.

"Not likely to walk. In that nice, suburban neighborhood, someone who is a stranger and isn't jogging would be noticed. Someone would have remembered seeing him."

"The Vances' house isn't close to public transport. He'd need to drive."

"No vehicles registered to him in a five-state area, including DC."

"Coltraine's."

"Thought of that. She has a silver Accord in her name. Got a BOLO out on that; no hits yet." Tim sighed. "We haven't a clue, boss. No one's actually _seen_ Stolpe."

"Someone must have!"

Tim thought, and then suddenly sprang from his chair. "The sketchpad—the drawing of the Director was the only thing in it. It may be a brand new pad! Purchased recently!"

* * *

Abby ran some tests while Tim and Gibbs watched. "Yes; the Vance one is newer," she said. "Very much so. I can date the paper in the old one back about 20 years, maybe 25. But this paper in the other pad is practically virgin vellum."

With gloved hands, Tim flipped the pad over, hoping… "Yes! A price sticker! From Monesta's Art Shop. Never heard of it."

Abby smiled and tapped at her computer. "One location within 100 miles. Maybe the only one. It's in Rockville."

Gibbs phoned a team that was investigating that part of Maryland, and sent them to the art supplies shop. Within half an hour, they had news. "The owner's a detail nut when it comes to his sales. He's sold only one pad of vellum of that brand and model in the last six months, and with that, a supply of drawing pencils and a couple erasers and a couple of…art thingamabobs. An art geek." He shook his head. "Was able to tell it was a credit card transaction; made by one Kyle E. Stolpe."

Tim looked a little embarrassed. "But I checked his credit card and banking records, boss. There was nothing recent…"

"The purchase was made four weeks ago, McGee. Right after he got out of prison."

"But the billing address on the credit card was still New Orleans. That's obviously not the case. It's already been checked out."

Gibbs smiled. "True. But the art supplies store always asks for a phone number with credit card transactions." He held up a piece of note paper with a scrawl. Abby snatched it.

"It's a prepaid cell phone," she announced quickly after a quick tap at a computer. "I suppose next you're going to want me to trace it."

"I suppose so," Gibbs said.

"You know, you used to reward me with _Caf-Pows!_" she complained.

"I used to have time to go get them. When this is over, I will." He kissed her cheek.

Tim was already on another computer. "His phone's on, and he's…on Theodore Roosevelt Island."

While Gibbs called in a number of teams to go to the heavily forested island in the Potomac River, Abby and Tim exchanged glances with some relief. Maybe this nightmare was drawing to a close.

* * *

Kyle Stolpe tightened his hoodie strings against the late autumn chill. The day was gray and somber, and that added to his tension and frustration. He wanted to call the Vance wife again, but he didn't want to go all the way to Alexandria to do it. Gas cost too much (how had it climbed so high during his years in the can?) and it seemed a lot of trouble to go to just to make the chick faint. He didn't really want to snatch one of the kids, though he was pretty sure he could do so. He just didn't like kids; didn't like being around them. Calling without having the Vance house in sight seemed fake.

Plus, he had a slight, nagging feeling that the LEOs were starting to get onto him…as unlikely as that seemed, considering his superior intellect. He was starting to be more careful about covering his tracks. He hadn't left anything in the house behind the Vances', he was sure. But they might be watching it, if they'd figured out that he'd been there.

He likewise didn't particularly want to go home to that dump he was renting in the District. The neighborhood depressed him, but that was all he could afford right now. Once he got enough information out of Vance to sell, though, he'd be sitting pretty. The bond money to set him free while waiting for a new trial had taken nearly everything he had. But soon…that would all be over, and he could start a new life in…some inexpensive area where the US would find it hard to have him extradited, in case those other killings ever came to light.

His only regret, by remaining on the island, was that his sketch pad was still in his apartment in the District. He would like to do a few more sketches of Vance…including the finale. Maybe tomorrow he would head back.

* * *

Time had lost meaning for Vance. He only knew that he endured. The pain in his pummeled feet blocked out nearly everything else in his mind; everything other than his family. Somewhere, back in his mind's shadows, there were dim thoughts of some NCIS secret…but he could no longer even focus on what that was.

_Missiles…_Yes, something about missiles. _Mustn't let…_

In his mind, he saw Jackie and the kids cowering before this man who held him captive. And he feared it might already be too late for them.

_The worst deaths,_ an instructor had told his NIS training class years ago, _are the long, slow ones. _

_Never thought I'd have to apply that saying to myself._

And he wished, likely in vain, that NCIS would come to his rescue and make everything right.

* * *

Tony and Ziva were among the teams, NCIS, FBI, and CIA that sped onto Theodore Roosevelt Island. "McGee, or Abby; we need you to pinpoint his location. This isn't a small island," Tony said on his phone.

"_Trying to triangulate, Tony,"_ said Tim.

Abby called over, _"I'll do you one better, Tony. I'm pulling up Google Earth and trying to identify every possible structure on there…wow; there are a lot of trees…"_

"Tell me about it," Tony grumbled. Trees were about all they could see.

"_Tony! He's about 500 feet north-northwest of you!"_

"Got it." Tony slapped the phone shut, and for once, enjoyed Ziva's quick driving down the winding road.

* * *

Stolpe looked up as a helicopter flew by overhead, not going very fast. He doubted they could be looking for him here; they weren't smart enough. And besides; other than killing Coltraine and that other guy, he'd kept out of trouble since his release. His gray hoodie and jeans should be hard to spot from the air in a forest.

An attractive woman with long, dark hair, wearing jogging clothes passed him on the track. "Sorry," she said as she lightly bumped him. "I was not paying attention."

"No apology needed," Stolpe said with a smile. He could picture her, tied, welts all over, eyes begging for mercy…but did he have time to take another prisoner right now?

"Oh, I think a lot of apologies will be needed," said a voice from behind him. "But maybe you'll want to talk to your lawyers first."

Stolpe turned and saw a dozen agents with guns on him. Shocked, he turned his head and saw that the woman jogger, and other agents, had likewise stopped in that direction.

Tony stepped forward and put handcuffs on Stolpe. "But first, why don't you tell us what you did with Director Vance?"

* * *

"Jackie…" His voice was weak; weak as the rest of him. Light suddenly shone on him and he closed his eyes tightly against it, while wondering if this was the white light leading to heaven.

"He is here!" Vance thought he heard someone say. Lights swept around him; voices; too many to pick out; words that his brain did not know but should know. Touches on his sore arms; his bruised and bloody chest; his legs. A sudden relief as he fell from the wall; no, not quite fell; he was held.

His angels had come for him; come to take him to a better place.

* * *

Gibbs, Tim, Ducky and Abby met Tony and Ziva at the hospital. Gibbs would only stay for a few minutes; even with Vance rescued, there was still a lot of aftermath to deal with for the Acting Director. There was no idea yet when…or if…Vance would be able to return to work.

"He's had many physical injuries," Ducky related sadly after talking to the physicians. "The result of many beatings. A few broken bones; much bruising. They'll check for internal injuries. His feet appear to be greatly damaged; he may not walk for some time yet. Jethro, unless you can convince that lady in San Diego to get on an airplane, you may be in the big chair for some time yet, I am afraid."

"I'll manage, as long as Leon promises to come back," Gibbs grunted. "Here comes Jackie. You folks can stay a little longer, but give Jackie her privacy with the Director."

The others nodded, and smiled as Jackie (bodyguards behind her) came forward to hug and thank all of them.

"You know, Leon was saying to me, just a week or two ago, that if he ever went missing, NCIS was sure to find him in a week," she sniffled. "I said, 'A _week_! Leon, your people would find you in _days!_ They're the best, Leon. Don't you forget that.' "

Tony put on a cheeky grin. "And did he say he wouldn't, Jackie?"

"He certainly won't forget now." She gave Tony an extra hug.

-END-


End file.
